And Things We're All Too Young to Know
by themostrandomfandom
Summary: "Sometimes you just know stuff for sure." Five vignettes set circa 3x10. Not too many people would guess it, but Brittany knows that loving Santana is the easiest and best thing in the world to do; Santana is just the best person to love. Mouseverse.
1. Dancing

Mr. Schue is probably good at a lot of things, like buying discounted sweater vests off the Ralph Lauren website and keeping his apartment clean for Ms. Pillsbury and making sure he's there every single time one of the glee kids gets sent to the principal's office—even if they don't have to go there for any reason to do with glee or Spanish class and even though Puck gets sent to the principal's office _a lot_—but Mr. Schue is not good at math.

"I just don't see why Santana and I can't dance together, if there's ten, then that's two and two and two and two and two—"

If Mr. Schue let Brittany and Santana dance together, then Kurt and Blaine could dance together, too, and everything would still work out just fine. There would still be ten people dancing the partnered part of the dance, which is enough to make five couples, just like Mr. Schue wants.

(Plus, the dance would look pretty amazing, because people who have chemistry look better dancing together than just random friends dancing together do. Duh.)

"Brittany," Mr. Schue says, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He looks at her like she's a puzzle that's too hard to solve and sighs. "I'm sorry, but you two can't dance together every time. We have to make everything even for this arrangement. We want to highlight our best dancers. Regionals is coming up soon and we don't have time to argue about this."

He talks in the low, silky voice that means he's almost out of patience—like there's just a few drops left at the bottom of his carton.

(Brittany hears that voice from him a lot.)

Brittany scrunches up her face because what Mr. Schue says doesn't even make sense.

First of all, she and Santana haven't danced together "every time"—they actually haven't danced together at all in the New Directions, just with the Troubletones, and, even then, they only danced together that one time for Sectionals.

Second, the arrangement won't ever be "even" because there are fifteen members in glee club and that's an odd number; they've already left five people out of the partnered part of the dance just to make it work.

Third, if they really wanted to highlight the best dancers for this number, Mr. Schue would make Artie dance with Quinn instead of Puck because Puck just sort of mumbles his feet through the choreography, but Artie actually knows how to shake it, even though he can't walk.

This is one of those times when everybody thinks that Brittany doesn't understand what they're saying, but really they don't understand what she's saying, and what she's saying actually makes a whole lot of sense. It feels like she's drifting down one side of the moving aisle at the airport and everybody else is drifting down the other side of it, so they all just pass each other by. Most of the other kids glare at Brittany for holding up the rehearsal; she wishes she could find the right words to explain what she means, but without drawing the choreography out on the whiteboard, she doesn't think she can—and Mr. Schue would probably yell at Brittany if she tried to touch the markers right now, she thinks.

"Britt," says Kurt, cutting into the conversation. "Just drop it. It's okay."

Santana shuffles in her seat beside Brittany; she shoots Kurt a death glare and reaches up to start drawing little circles on Brittany's back.

Brittany would say more if she could think of a better way to explain how everything could work, but she knows she doesn't have time. Everyone is either looking at her with tight mouths and squinty eyes or looking away from her like she's that guy outside the movie theater who tries to hand out Jesus flyers to anyone who meets his eye.

(Everybody already feels super frustrated because Rachel complained for like ten minutes straight about how none of Mr. Schue's song selections for Regionals require the use of her head voice; Brittany doesn't want to make things worse.)

She just looks at Santana and shrugs.

_I tried._

Santana nods and tucks her lips in her mouth. She gives Brittany a small, sweet smile and Brittany can feel Santana's fingernails press through the fabric of her Cheerios jacket. Even if nobody else understands, Santana gets what Brittany means.

"All right, guys!" says Mr. Schue, motioning for them to come down from their chairs onto the floor.

Brittany and Santana are the last to stand up. Santana moves her hand to the small of Brittany's back as they walk down the big steps to go join the partners Mr. Schue assigned them—Brittany with Mike and Santana with Sam.

"Okay, from the top!"

It isn't bad at all, dancing with Mike. His body moves like elastic bands softened from sitting on a windowsill in the sun, full of snap when he needs it, but also smooth and languid in places. With Brittany in flats, his hips set just above hers, which will make it really easy to do the rocking motion that Mr. Schue choreographed over the bridge. He smiles shyly at Brittany in a way that makes Brittany think she can imagine exactly what Mike must have looked like in kindergarten, and shuffles his feet a little, glancing back at Tina—really not bad at all.

Brittany can hear Santana laughing and looks over to see Sam doing the Dougie in front of Santana while he mouths the words "Go, Trouty! Go, Trouty!" to himself under his breath. Santana draws a hand up to her face to cover her smile and gives him an epic eye roll. When she catches Brittany looking at her, she nods at Sam and rolls her eyes again. She mouths the word _dork_ and waits for Brittany to agree with her assessment. Brittany just shakes her head a little and puts her hands on Mike's shoulders while Mr. Schue cues up the song.

Even though Santana and Brittany don't get to dance with each other, they do get to dance across from each other, with Sam and Santana on the left side of the room and Mike and Brittany parallel to them on the right, and that means that that they actually spend a lot of the routine with their eyes locked.

Brittany doesn't mean to stare, but she really, really can't help it.

Santana does everything prettily, from Cheerios stunts to drinking out of the water fountain to brushing her hair away from her face after she stands up from tying her shoes, but she especially dances pretty.

She doesn't think she's awesome at dancing because she doesn't take lessons at the studio like Brittany does and she's kind of a perfectionist, so she thinks that "untaught" means "not good," but Brittany likes the way Santana moves, with just a little bit of pop in her shoulders and just a little bit of jazz in her hips. When Santana dances with boys, she always acts sort of careful in a way that makes Brittany want to scoop Santana up and keep her like a secret wish.

(Brittany can't wait for prom this year, when Santana can dance safe and dance slow and she and Brittany can make all the wishes together that they want.)

Santana stares back at Brittany, too, her eyes dark and deep as the coffee at the bottom of a cup. She has to stand on her tiptoes a little bit to see over Sam's shoulder. When she realizes that Brittany's looking at her the same way she's looking at Brittany, she smiles, like somebody just offered her a gift for no reason at all.

_Hi,_ Brittany mouths.

_Hi,_ Santana mouths back.

Mike shakes his head a little because he knows what Brittany's doing. Brittany chuckles when he spins her because he makes sure to end the spin when she's exactly facing Santana again.

(Sometimes Brittany thinks that Mike is one of the best people ever born, maybe.)

The song isn't fast and it isn't slow, so there's a lot of rocking and a couple of spins. Mr. Schue spends a bunch of time coaching Puck through the footwork; Quinn glares and glares, like this whole routine is the most obnoxious thing to ever happen to her.

Brittany sends a smile to Quinn across the room: _Sorry_.

(If Mr. Schue had listened to Brittany, then Quinn could have danced with Sam and nobody would have had to dance with Puck.)

Quinn laughs a little through her nose and makes the gag-me gesture while Mr. Schue is busy trying to teach Puck to wag his hips.

They run through the partnered dance probably six times before Mr. Schue says they can go get a drink of water and each time it feels like Brittany and Santana dance with each other, even though they don't touch. Brittany starts thinking a lot about the winter formal and a lot about Sadie Hawkins and a lot about prom and other things, even farther away. When Santana finally breaks from Sam and Brittany breaks from Mike, Brittany bounds over to Santana and links their elbows together.

"Will you go to prom with me?" she blurts, out of breath, one, because they just finished dancing and it gets stuffy in the choir room when a lot of people move in there, and, two, because she just feels so excited that her breath can hardly keep up with her words.

Santana looks confused. "Uh, okay," she says. "But isn't that still a few months away, baby?"

"It is," Brittany shrugs. "I just wanted to make sure that nobody else asked you first."

Santana laughs and looks at Brittany like Brittany is the bee's knees. "Yes, I will go to prom with you," Santana says and the last word sounds like a kiss, with a little pop at the end.

"Awesome," says Brittany, leading Santana out of the choir room after Mike and Blaine as they head towards the water fountain. "I'll ask you again later and it'll be really cute. Like maybe I'll print out a fake parking ticket that says 'Your fine for being too fine? Come with me to prom' and leave it on your windshield for after Cheerios practice… oh, except I probably won't do that one now because I just told you it and I want to surprise you."

Santana's whole face lights up when Brittany says that and she checks quickly over her shoulder to see where Mike and Blaine are.

"Come on," Santana says, reaching for Brittany's hand and tugging her down the hallway away from the water fountain, quick like they have someplace to be. She pulls Brittany around a corner, and, after she looks twice to make sure that no one's around, she stands up on her tiptoes and kisses Brittany, her one hand still holding Brittany's, her other hand jammed in the pocket of her jacket.

It's a dizzy kind of kiss.

"Hey, now," says Brittany when Santana nips at her bottom lip.

"Hey," Santana laughs, peeling away from Brittany and leaning back against the wall alongside her. She looks a little punch drunk; Brittany feels the way that Santana looks. Santana licks her lips and stuffs both hands in her pockets. "Will you go to prom with me, Britty?"

"I'd love to," Brittany says, breathless. It felt really nice when Brittany asked Santana to prom and Santana said yes, but it feels amazing to have Santana ask her to prom and to be able to say yes back. Brittany feels so happy; she rolls up onto the balls of her feet, bouncing a little where she stands.

Santana sighs and seems so content, like she could just fall asleep right where they stand or like she always wants to stay in this private little stretch of hallway between the stairway and the bulletin board. She laughs a little, "I'll probably issue you a citation that just says 'For stealing my heart.'"

Brittany smiles. Suddenly, she feels really, really excited for May to come. "I think I'll like that," she says.

They both just grin at each other.

"They're probably waiting for us," says Santana, after a minute.

Brittany nods, "Yeah, they probably are."


	2. Reading

She's about two seconds away from pulling out of the parking lot when Mike runs over to the car and taps on her window with his knuckles, gesturing for her to hurry and roll it down either because he's cold or because he's impatient or maybe a little bit of both.

Brittany shifts the car into park because she doesn't want to risk accidentally running over Mike's toes and presses the button to make the window move. Winter air snakes into the car from the outside; she can see Mike's breath and little droplets of not-quite-snow, not-quite-rain grained against the rough fibers of his keffiyeh scarf. Her windshield starts to fog from the inside as the hot air from the heater mixes with the cold from the parking lot.

Santana reaches for the defroster and turns down the radio as Mike shifts his weight between his feet and leans up against the car. He doesn't stick his head through the window, but he does look inside the car cabin, eyes taking in everything—Santana sitting on the passenger side with her knees tucked under her body, her backpack crushed up against Brittany's in the backseat, her iPod plugged into Brittany's tape jack.

"Some of us were gonna go to Hunan Garden," he says, bringing his hands up to his face and puffing warm breath between them. He isn't wearing gloves. The sky overhead is almost dark and thick with clouds. "Did you guys want to come along?"

He asks about both of them, but talks to Brittany, and it's just sort of like that now—everyone knows that they go together. Swallowing a smile, Brittany looks over to Santana, asking a question without saying anything. Santana sucks her lips into her mouth, not because she's scared, but because she's surprised; she still isn't used to the fact that the glee kids like having her around nowadays.

(Took them long enough, Brittany thinks. Santana is the best, the best, the best. Now that people know her a little, of course they like her—she's the best person to like.)

After Santana nods at her, Brittany smiles at Mike. "Sure do, beef stew!" Brittany says happily. "Can I just follow you and Tina?" Mike nods. "Awesome," Brittany says and Mike smiles at her and waves at Santana before pulling his coat up by his ears and dashing away across the wet parking lot, heading to where his car idles, Tina waiting for him inside. Brittany rolls up the window and flicks on the headlights, watching puddles slosh under Mike's feet until he reaches his door.

"Is everybody going?" Santana asks.

Brittany shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe?"

"You hungry, babe?" Santana asks, reaching across the console to tuck a wisp of hair behind Brittany's ear as Brittany checks over her shoulder before reversing out of the parking spot, watching as Mike's car heads towards the exit to the street.

"Starving," Brittany says. "All that swimming was hard work."

"Swimming and singing," Santana agrees. Her skin still smells faintly like chlorine.

* * *

><p>On the drive from the school to the restaurant, they rehash Mr. Schue's proposal and the big number, but maybe they really shouldn't, because once they get to the restaurant, that's all everybody wants to talk about, so they have to rehash everything again. Brittany tunes out of the re-rehashing with the people who are already there and draws up close to the jade dragon carving hanging on the wall of the restaurant instead, taking in its hatch marked scales and the spaces between its spiny teeth, careful to look with her eyes and not with her hands.<p>

She can feel Santana watching her, as fascinated with her actions as Brittany is with the carving. Santana's gaze may as well be a spotlight and Brittany feels like the most famous person in the world; she blushes and smiles a little.

_Hi,_ she mouths to Santana while everyone else chatters.

_Hello,_ Santana mouths back, her mouth falling open into a cute lopsided o.

She waves to Brittany like they're far away and Brittany's belly flip-flops. She grins because—_Santana_—and only breaks from looking at her when she hears the jingle bells attached to the restaurant door announce the arrival of more friends.

It turns out that not everybody came along, just Mike and Tina, Quinn, Sugar, and Mercedes and Sam, the last two on another one of their not-a-date dates, which Brittany and Santana can't help but smirk at, because they know how that works out.

("Oh god, just let her dump Shane first," Santana mumbles as Sam buys Mercedes a handful of Red Hots out of the crank vending machine by the waiting benches with two quarters from his pocket. Mercedes smiles at Sam like he's the Most Special Thing. Brittany nods and touches Santana's elbow because Santana is right; they've learned.)

The whole group clutters in the foyer of the restaurant and when the hostess asks them how many Sam holds up one whole hand plus two extra fingers and a thumb and smiles when he says "Eight."

(He likes being back in Lima with his friends again, Brittany can tell. He keeps glancing over at all of them like he can't believe they're real. In a different sort of way, Brittany knows the feeling.)

It takes a few minutes for the wait staff to push some extra chairs against one of the big booth tables for them, but after that, the hostess seats their group immediately and takes their drink orders right away.

It's almost like a quadruple date, except Sugar and Quinn aren't on a date and Sam and Mercedes are pretending they're not on a date, either. Brittany buzzes with excitement, strangely giddy as she slips into the booth and Santana slips in next to her, their hips bumping and hands finding each other under the table immediately. It just feels like a good night already—she can tell.

It makes Brittany glad that everyone who's here is here, but especially Santana. Brittany is so busy just grinning at Santana that she doesn't hear it the first time when the waitress asks if she would like any appetizers, but Santana nudges her with her elbow. "You want to split some pot stickers, BrittBritt?" she says.

"Yes, please. I'm famished," Brittany nods, totally exaggerating because sometimes acting all dramatic can be fun.

"Okay," Santana says, grinning at Brittany's silliness. She looks up at the waitress, "One order of pot stickers, please," and Brittany knows that means that Santana is going to pay tonight.

Sam doesn't know that, though.

Once the waitress takes everyone's orders and disappears into the back of the restaurant, Sam looks across the table and shrugs. "So how does it work?" he says curiously. "How do you decide who pays every time?" He stares at Santana and Brittany like they're a birthday present he wants to unwrap, except not in a sexy way—just in a way that means they interest him.

"We arm wrestle," Brittany answers seriously, putting on her best straight face. Sam stares at her, his mouth twisting a little into a funny shape, like he can't tell if she's joking or not. He looks kind of dumbstruck. "Whoever wins gets to pay."

After a second, Mercedes cuts in. "She's joking," she explains, chuckling. "If they arm wrestled, Brittany would end up paying for every damn date because Santana's so damn scrawny."

"Hey!" says Santana when everyone laughs. "Not cool! I pay half the time, she pays half the time. It's not a big deal, fish face," she says towards Sam, and the last part sounds a teeny bit sharp. Brittany knows Santana doesn't want to be mean; she's just not used to the attention. Under the table, Brittany strokes Santana's thumb with her own and she feels Santana soften to her touch.

(She likes that she has that effect on Santana.)

It's funny, but ever since everyone found out about them dating, the whole glee club has shown a ton of interest in how Brittany and Santana work, when they never showed any interest in them before. Everybody fusses about them, like they're so cute and so mysterious. Brittany doesn't mind, because she knows that people can't help but feel interested in new things, but she also knows that it weirds Santana out to have people asking them questions like this.

That's why it makes Brittany glad when Tina changes the subject, bringing up the fact that Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury probably went out to eat tonight, too.

"I bet he took her to BreadStiX," Mike says and everyone just sort of nods and murmurs because, yeah, that seems like the thing to do.

"I'm glad we didn't go there, then," Tina laughs. "I would have felt like a stalker."

"Are we gonna have to call her Mrs. Schue now? Because that's weird," Sugar blurts, but no one really answers her, even though Brittany thinks it's a valid question.

"I can't believe he trashed his tux!" Sam sounds like he's thinking out loud. He shakes his head. "I guess he must just really love her."

And Brittany and Santana look at each other, because nowadays whenever anybody talks about love, it triggers something in them so they just have to look. Santana's eyes turn liquid soft and Brittany knows that hers must turn that way, too. She feels a gentle tugging on her heart and tangles her fingers more thoroughly in Santana's.

"Aw!" says Mercedes, catching them out of the corner of her eye.

"Shut up," Santana mumbles, but she doesn't look away at all.

* * *

><p>It takes a while for their meals to come, probably because there are so many of them in the group and Sam and Mike ordered, like, two entrees a piece. While they wait for their food, Sam entertains them with his impressions of <em>Saturday Night Live<em> guys doing impressions of old presidents. Brittany doesn't get all the jokes because she doesn't even remember when Bill Clinton was in the White House because she was way young back then—they all were, but apparently she's seen less late night television than everybody else has—so mostly she just watches her friends, taking them in, enjoying their laughter rumbling around the booth.

Brittany notices a lot, just watching, like that Mercedes always looks at Sam's lips when she laughs at his jokes and that Sugar keeps taking peeks at Brittany and Santana and then quickly glancing away whenever she thinks they won't catch her doing it, like what sometimes happens when you look over at the person in the car next to you at a stoplight and then the person all of a sudden looks back at you and you both feel embarrassed about staring. She notices how Tina talks more than she does in glee club in a smaller group like this, just like what happened when she was on the Brainiacs last year. She notices Quinn on the far end of the booth, sandwiched between Sugar and Mercedes, quiet and wearing a smile that looks fragile, like it's made of glass.

It's nice that Quinn came with them tonight, Brittany thinks, because she's only just started doing this again since Christmas—hanging out with the glee kids, letting people see her. Quinn still isn't quite back to how she was before, but Brittany doesn't know that she ever will be. She has this new smallness inside her that Brittany can somehow see from the outsides.

When Brittany thinks about it, it's almost like Quinn fell down and got mud all over her face and then didn't have time to clean it off before everyone told her to stand up and keep going again, so now she walks tall and holds her chin up, pretending like no one can see the mud, even though it's all right there, plain as anything, because that's just Quinn; she's proud, or at least she pretends to be.

Santana must notice that Brittany's wandered away into thinking a lot. She follows Brittany's eyes to Quinn. "Hey, Quinn," Santana says, loudly enough to get Quinn's attention from across the table, but not to break the conversation. "You want the last pot sticker?" she shoves the plate towards Quinn across the tablecloth and Quinn just gapes at her, then looks to Brittany, like Brittany made Santana do it.

"Thanks," Quinn mumbles, broken out of a daze. Brittany smiles at her and she smiles back, lips thin and pink like rose petals pressed between the pages of a book.

Brittany leans over and clamps down on Santana's straw between her lips. She takes a sip from Santana's Cherry Coke.

"So now you get to drink my Coke because you finished your Dr. Pepper already?" Santana says, fake annoyed, but mostly just beyond cute.

"Now I get to drink your _Cherry_ Coke because I finished my Dr. Pepper already," Brittany corrects her.

"They have free refills, Britt."

Brittany takes another long drink from Santana's cup, almost draining it.

"They have free refills, San."

* * *

><p>Sometimes there is nothing better in the world than Chinese food and being with friends. They all trade bites off their own plates with each other and make funny faces over the dishes that are too spicy and at the texture of the tofu in Tina's Vegetable Egg Foo Young. The waitress comes back to keep refilling their drinks and smiles at them because they're being a little loud, but it's okay because they're the only customers in the restaurant right now, so no one cares.<p>

Brittany and Santana eat with their hands linked, now on top of the table. Brittany sees Tina look at their twined fingers and smile at them a little bit, but Tina doesn't say anything about it. She probably just thinks it's cool that Brittany and Santana can do that because Santana is left-handed and Brittany's right-handed, so both of them can still hold their chopsticks, even while they hold onto each other.

(It's just another thing Brittany really likes about _them_.)

Just to flirt, Brittany starts pressing on Santana's thumb with her thumb and pretty soon Santana starts trying to press back and it turns into a thumb war. Neither one of them looks at their hands, but Santana smiles super big so that everyone can see her deep dimples. She shrieks a little before she can stop herself when Brittany almost pins her thumb down to win.

"You dork!" Santana says, recovering, flinching away so that she almost knocks into Sugar. Her grin looks like it runs on a bijillion megawatts of happy.

"I think you're supposed to keep your elbows on the table," Sugar says warily, watching Brittany and Santana's arms move between them, unanchored.

"It's rude to put your elbows on the table," Brittany says and Sugar nods, almost reverent, probably because it's true.

"Dork! Dork! Dork!" squeals Santana as Brittany wins the game.

* * *

><p>Santana is like the fastest food eater in the world, which is something you maybe wouldn't guess about her, because she's so small. She totally is, though, which is probably why she finishes her General Tso's Chicken before Sam and Mike even make it to their second entrees and then gets into a conversation with Mercedes about what it was like when they were little and their dads would bring home gauze and tongue depressors and those weird cotton-headed swishy sticks from work for them to play with.<p>

(Mercedes' dad is a dentist; Santana's dad is a doctor.)

Santana laughs her real laugh once or twice while Mercedes talks about how she shredded an entire bag of cotton balls all over her living room floor when she was three and her mom freaked out about it because those floaty, light pieces of frayed cotton are almost impossible to pick up with a vacuum cleaner. Brittany just watches Santana, happy to see Santana so happy, while Brittany munches on her Kung Pao Shrimp and sneaks as much of Santana's Cherry Coke as she can because her food is so spicy that it makes her eyes sting.

After a while, Brittany tugs away from Santana. "Bathroom," she whispers and Santana looks like she wants to reach up to kiss her before she leaves. Instead, Santana settles on squeezing Brittany's hand.

"Okay," she says sweetly, her eyes soft and deep for no reason except the usual one.

"Be back soon," Brittany says, scooting out of the booth.

"Okay," Santana says again, extra super sweet, watching her go.

* * *

><p>When Brittany comes back from the bathroom, Santana has one knee up on the seat, almost like she was saving it for Brittany—like anyone would take it. When she sees Brittany walking over, she starts to move, but Brittany hurries and presses into the booth. "Goofball," Brittany whispers and Santana giggles, but instead of just sitting down where Santana's knee was, Brittany slides all the way over until she sits in Santana's lap. Santana gasps a little, surprised, but then a grin spreads over her face. She adjusts how she's sitting so that Brittany can get comfortable.<p>

"Hey, you," she says.

"Hey, mouse," Brittany says back.

For a second, they stare at each other, grinning like idiots, Santana's hand reaching up to tug at the Cheerios flap on the back of Brittany's jacket, just to have another way to hold onto her. Brittany feels a warm, sweet feeling spread out inside her chest. She can smell the Very Sexy Victoria Secret body spray that Santana put on after they got out of the pool dabbed at the hinge of Santana's jaw, and, underneath that, just _Santana_.

A hard laugh cuts through the moment and both Brittany and Santana look over to see Quinn staring at them, mouth agape. She seems amused.

"Do not tell me that Santana's the big spoon."

"Shut it, Fabray."

A pause.

"It's cute."

* * *

><p>As they wait for their server to bring them their checks, Santana rustles a container of mints out of her purse and pops it open, offering it to Brittany. Brittany grins because Santana always has the best tasting mints and gum, which is just another reason out of infinity reasons to love Santana so, so much.<p>

Brittany takes two mints—one for each side of her mouth—whispering a quiet thank you into Santana's ear before Santana takes a mint for herself. She clicks the latch on the mint container into place and reaches over to put the mints away, but before she can hide the container back inside her purse, she notices everybody staring at her, obviously interested in what she's doing. Santana rolls her eyes and holds the mints out to Sugar for her to pass around. Santana rolls her eyes again when everybody thanks her for the candy, like it's a big deal that she shared or something.

The waitress brings their receipts on a little plastic tray, along with eight, plastic-wrapped fortune cookies. While everyone sucks their mints and works out the tips—"Three dollars," Brittany whispers in Santana's ear and Santana smiles, glad for Brittany's quick math, maneuvering her left arm around Brittany to sign the receipt—Brittany reaches for the fortune cookies and pulls two towards her and Santana on the table. She bites her first mint in half as she picks up a cookie for herself. She bites her second mint in half as she opens the cookie wrapper.

"Do you think you'll get one for your wallet this time, Britty?" Santana whispers as she adds on the three dollars to the second line of the receipt. She speaks softly, so that no one else hears, because it's a question just for them.

Whenever Brittany gets a cool fortune at a Chinese restaurant, she likes to save the fortune inside the zippered pocket of her wallet, which is like her own tiny library full of wisdom and good luck. She keeps some fortunes because they're already true, others because they're funny, and some because she wants them to come true so, so bad.

Last year, she saved a lot of that last kind.

_("Your true love is sitting right across from you.")_

_("Even when all seems hopeless, love prevails.")_

_("Everything will become clearer tomorrow.")_

_("Your fondest dream will soon come true.")_

_("The best is yet to come.")_

"Totally. I've got a good feeling about it," Brittany smiles, because she's had good feeling about this whole night. She really wants to kiss Santana, but she knows she probably shouldn't, so instead she fiddles with her cookie, setting it down on her napkin.

With Brittany moving the cookies around, everyone else suddenly seems to notice them, too.

"Okay, okay, okay," says Sam. "Everybody wait! We've got to play the 'in bed' game."

"The what?" says Sugar, looking a little bit scandalized, but a little bit intrigued, too. She clearly has never heard of it.

"You know: the 'in bed' game," Sam repeats, as though just saying the name again will help her understand.

Mercedes rolls her eyes at him and snatches up a cookie for herself. She breaks the wrapper. "It's where you read your fortune out loud to everyone at the table and add the words 'in bed' to the end of whatever it is," she explains.

"It's juvenile," says Quinn.

"It's funny," says Sam.

Everyone looks around at each other, like they're checking to see if anyone is too chicken to play. Sam wears this dopey, open-mouthed smile. Mercedes looks amused. Quinn shakes her head softly and clucks her tongue against her teeth, like she can't believe they all want to do this.

"Let's do it!" says Sugar excitedly, ripping her wrapper open and pulling out her cookie.

"Okay, I'll go first," Sam volunteers. He shoots a flirty look at Mercedes sitting next to him. "I'm excited to know my future."

A few of them laugh, because Sam is just so dorky sometimes, and Mercedes looks at her hands, folded on the tablecloth. She doesn't blush, but Brittany guesses that her face probably feels super hot, because that's what happens with Santana sometimes, too.

"Just read the damn thing, Sam Macaroni-and-Cheese," Santana says, acting exasperated at how hopeless he is, even though she smiles a huge smile, looking even more dorky and sentimental than he did just a second ago, right at Brittany. Hopeless. Brittany smiles a huge smile, too, because when you're in love, watching other people be in love too is like the sweetest, funnest thing ever, almost like being in on a giant, awesome secret.

Sam winks at Santana and takes a breath. He cracks his cookie open and reads, "'Life is always hardest near the summit,'" and everyone else chimes in, "—in bed!"

They all laugh, but Mike laughs loudest of all. "Pretty hard, huh, Sam?" he teases and Brittany and Santana look at each other, shaking their heads, because, really, boys are always big weirdos about that word, no matter how old they are. Tina smacks Mike on the shoulder and Sam blushes a lot, his whole face turning pink.

"What does that even mean?" Sam mutters, probably not about the "hard" joke, but more about the fortune. Mercedes just looks at him like she doesn't know either.

"I'll go," says Tina, snaking her fortune out from the puckered corner of her cookie without breaking it at all.

(Sometimes Brittany is pretty sure that Tina is magic or a ninja or something.)

"'Don't wait for your ship to come in. Swim out to it,'" Tina says.

Sam, Mike, and Sugar shout, "—in bed!" but everybody else just kind of chuckles.

"That one was stupid," says Sugar and everyone agrees.

Mercedes gets one that says "You are cautious in showing your true self to others" and that one is kind of funny, but not really. Quinn's says "You are a joy to have around. People appreciate this about you" and it makes Quinn roll her eyes so hard that Brittany worries that she might never be able to unroll them again afterwards.

"'Smile. Tomorrow is another day,'" Sugar reads and the others chorus, "—in bed!"

Sugar wears this small grin, like she can't really believe she's in this restaurant, playing this game, with friends. She looks at everyone fondly and tucks her fortune into her Juicy Couture purse when she thinks no one is looking; Brittany guesses that Sugar probably wants to remember this evening for a long time. Brittany understands that.

"'Soon, a visitor shall delight you,'" Mike reads, "—in bed!" and everyone bursts out laughing, because that one was pretty good. Mike looks bashful and sends a nervous glance to Tina. She laughs louder than anyone.

"Well, I guess I better come see you tonight, Michael," she says in a kind of sexy voice Brittany has never heard Tina use before.

Mike turns about as red as a tomato.

"Oh my god, Girl Chang!" crows Santana. "Wanky!"

And the whole group laughs again. Since she talked last, everyone expects Santana to go now. Santana just nods and waves her hand at them dismissively. "All right, all right," she says, unfolding her fortune. She rolls her eyes. "'You have a quiet and unobtrusive nature,'" she reads.

Everyone practically screams "—in bed!" and then busts out laughing. Sam pounds on the table with his fist and Mike and Tina laugh right into each other's faces. Even Quinn cracks up, drawing a hand up to her mouth to cover it.

They all look at not just Santana, but Brittany, and Brittany feels pink flood her cheeks and ears. She really wishes that she wouldn't blush like that, because, right now, her blushing says more than anything. She can feel heat radiate off Santana, too, through her coat. Usually, talking about sex doesn't bother Brittany, but for some reason, this feels super different.

"Oh my god, that cannot be true!" Mercedes blurts and Santana tenses underneath Brittany's body. Brittany looks at Santana's face and sees Santana's eyebrows all the way up by her hair.

"Please don't respond to that," Mike says quickly, reaching over to touch Brittany's arm. Brittany wasn't going to say anything, because, oh god, no way, but it seems like some of them expected her to talk, so Brittany feels really glad that Mike told her not to, because what he said kind of saved her. She wonders if she should thank him for saying something later. Everyone laughs again.

Instead of pulling away from Brittany, Santana hides her face in Brittany's shoulder, her hands still linked around Brittany's middle like a safety belt. "Oh my god," she says, breath hot on Brittany's neck. She uses her cutest, shyest voice, which is usually something she only does when it's just her and Brittany alone together. Brittany can feel Santana smiling against her skin. "Britt!" Santana whines, drawing out Brittany's name like she just wants Brittany to make everyone stop laughing.

Right then, even though Brittany still feels a little bit embarrassed herself, she also melts because Santana is so incredibly adorable that Brittany doesn't even know what to do with her.

(She wants to kiss her so, so bad.)

Brittany leans forward, "Okay! Me last!" she says and she's glad when everyone looks at her cookie instead of Santana. She cracks the cookie in half, crumbs dusting down between her fingers.

"This had better be a good one!" Sam says, like Brittany has a choice.

"'He who would climb a ladder must start at the first rung,'" she reads and everyone just groans, "—in bed," because that one barely even makes sense. They all sort of chuckle, smiles still stretched across their faces.

"Those were all sort of lame," Tina shrugs.

"Shall we go?" says Quinn, like she has some place else to be.

Everybody nods and starts reaching for their coats. Brittany eats her cookie quickly.

"Eat this one, too," says Santana, offering hers to Brittany, as well.

Brittany just winks at her and accepts the gift.

* * *

><p>They all say goodbye to each other in the parking lot, under the street lights. It isn't raining or snowing anymore, but the ground is still slick with wet, cold, black. Sam offers to drive Mercedes home, but she says that Quinn can just drop her off instead before she piles into the back of Quinn's car, Sugar right after her. Sam watches them go, wearing a funny lopsided half-smile. Mike claps him on the shoulder.<p>

"Next time, bro," he says.

"Bye, guys!" Tina yells to Brittany and Santana as they get inside Brittany's car.

"Bye!" Brittany yells back and Santana gives a big pageant wave.

Brittany and Santana are the last ones to leave the lot because Brittany takes a second to text her parents to tell them that she'll be a little late because she has to drive Santana home. It takes a minute or two for the car to heat and the windows to defrost. Brittany looks up from her phone to find Santana watching her.

"You okay?" Brittany asks, setting a hand on Santana's knee. In the restaurant, she kind of worried that all that stuff during the fortune cookie game freaked Santana out. She wants to know if it did.

Santana doesn't seem freaked out. "Mmhm," she purrs, relaxing into Brittany's touch. After a few seconds, she adds, "That was fun." Brittany knows Santana is totally telling the truth and that makes Brittany happy. Santana pauses and Brittany feels pretty sure that she's remembering the game. Santana smirks. "Those guys are weirdos sometimes."

"Super weirdos," Brittany agrees, laughing. She feels really grateful for Santana just being _Santana_ all of a sudden, like even more than usual. Her next words seem to roll off of that. "I wanted to kiss you so bad all night."

"Really?" Santana sounds breathless, even though, duh.

"Mmhm," says Brittany. "Because you're like the cutest person in the world… even if you're inconclusive."

"Unobtrusive?"

"Yep."

They lean over to each other and sink into a kiss. Brittany can tell by the way that this kiss is so deep even from the start that Santana wanted to kiss her all night, too; it's like they've packed all their missed kisses into this one. She runs her tongue over Santana's lips; Santana's cheeks and the tip of her nose feel cold from the outside when Brittany touches Santana's face, but the inside of Santana's mouth feels warm and tingly from the mints. Their whole bodies move, not just their heads, rolling. Santana sighs, high and pitched, and Brittany smiles because _Santana_.

They break away, both a little out of breath.

"Okay, whoa," says Santana goofily, acting like she's dizzy.

"Yeah," gasps Brittany, because she feels that way, too.

For a second, they both breathe heavily and smile, mouths hanging open.

Finally, Santana turns and buckles her seatbelt. "You ready to go, babe?" she asks, looking at Brittany with eyes so deep and dark that they look almost black under the shadows. She still wears a funny after-kiss smile.

"Just a sec," Brittany tells her, fishing in her coat pocket. "Could you hand me my purse?"

Santana nods and does. She watches as Brittany pulls out her wallet and unzips the pocket.

"Wait," says Santana. "You're saving that ladder thing? How was that a cool fortune?"

Brittany shrugs. It isn't really like the fortune itself is cool. "I just wanted to save a little piece of tonight," she says honestly. "Plus," she draws out that last word and smoothes out the fortune, showing it to Santana. Brittany points at the bottom of the paper. "See the lucky numbers? That one is, like, one day off from your birthday, so maybe it means something."

"And your Chinese word of the day is _mouse_," Santana notes.

Brittany gasps. Leave it to Santana to find the best part. "That's even better! See? 'Cause you're my little mouse! It's, like, fate or destiny or something," she grins.

She and Santana push their heads closer together and try to sound out the Chinese word written in English letters—shǔ—stretching the vowel in weird ways, moving their mouths all funny. Maybe they can ask Mike about it tomorrow.

"Okay," says Santana, grinning. "I guess that one's a keeper."

"Sure thang," says Brittany, tucking the fortune away, safe, inside her wallet. "You ready to go?"

"Sure thang."

As they drive away into the night, she keeps that good feeling.


	3. Singing

Lucky it was Brittany's turn to drive them today, because after Coach yelled at Santana during practice, Santana disappeared behind her eyes and she hasn't really come back out from there since.

Brittany keeps checking her in the rearview mirror, but Santana doesn't say anything. She just sits, glossy and listless, in the passenger's seat, worrying her hands in her lap, her forehead pressed against her window, while Brittany steers the car out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Her breath fogs the glass every time she exhales, leaving a round patch of gray condensation by her lips, one translucent, wetter ring surrounded by a thicker, darker outer circle. She scrunches her brow tight, but her jaw hangs slack.

She looks like she just lost every game in the world.

"Baby," Brittany pouts, reaching over the console to tease Santana's hands apart and take the left one in her own, because, god. "Your face."

"My what?" Santana says absently, staring up at Brittany in the mirror. Brittany stares back, but only for a second. She has to pay attention to the traffic.

"Your lips and eyes and cheeks look heartbroken," Brittany clarifies, exaggerating her pout. "And probably even your nose, too. It's kind of harder to tell with that one, though."

Santana looks like she wants to smile at Brittany's joke, but she doesn't. She just shrugs, her shoulders floppy like a rag doll's. Brittany guesses that if Santana tried to talk right now, she would probably just cry instead.

For a second, Brittany considers pulling over right then on the road and kissing Santana until she forgets all about Sue Sylvester and the Cheerios and all of Sue's stupid favoritism, but there isn't a shoulder here, so Brittany decides that stopping the car wouldn't really be safe. Plus, Brittany just thought of a different plan to cheer Santana up, and, if she's going to do it, they can't stop just yet.

"Lo siento," Brittany whispers, which doesn't just mean "I'm sorry," even though Mr. Schue swears that, yes, it does.

(It means exactly what Brittany wants to say right now, which is something more like "When your heart breaks, mine does, too," except the Spanish seems fuller than the English does somehow.)

When Brittany checks Santana's reaction in the rear-view, Santana sends Brittany a dark, soft, grateful look, like Brittany just gave her a really thoughtful present or something. Brittany gets that. She squeezes Santana's fingers tighter and hums, low in her throat.

After a minute, Santana speaks. "She hates me," she says, at first quiet, but then her voice rises. "I don't know what I did wrong! She just hates me." Santana huffs. "God."

Brittany sighs, not because she thinks Santana is being dramatic or anything, but because she can tell Santana feels worthless, when really Santana is worth about a googolplex bucks.

"You didn't do anything wrong. And she doesn't hate you," Brittany shrugs, rubbing her thumb over the soft patch of flesh between Santana's thumb and forefinger as she slows the car to make a left turn.

"Britt," Santana says hopelessly, "she didn't even give me a chance to show her what I wanted the stupid routine to look like. When I tried, she told me I was interrupting. She was all like, 'Lopez! ¿Còmo se dice stupid flakes en español?' and then she told me that my mom must have put some on my rice and bean breakfast this morning. She called me Chesty McGee in front of everybody for the first time since…," her voice trails away and Brittany fills in the rest of Santana's sentence in her mind.

_… since the commercial._

"Yeah, she did," Brittany agrees. "And that was super mean and not okay and it sucks." Brittany takes a breath and pauses before saying the next part so that Santana knows she's not just racing past the bad stuff because she doesn't think it's real or something. It is real. When Santana nods, Brittany continues, "That still doesn't mean she hates you, though, San."

"But she picked Becky's stupid routine over mine!" Santana complains.

"Yeah," Brittany agrees again. "But she can like Becky's routine without hating yours. And she's like super mean to everybody, even people she likes. I think she's probably just cranky because she's like too old to have sex anymore. Plus, I'm pretty sure that Becky is her number one person, so it's almost like her decision was rigged or something." Brittany shrugs.

"Becky's what?"

"Everybody has a person that they just choose, like, for everything," Brittany explains. "Or at least most people do… maybe not hermits, though."

"Yeah?" Santana says. Her voice sounds lighter than it did a second ago—maybe even a little hopeful. Brittany can't see Santana's face right now because Brittany's merging lanes and has to look at the road, but she can imagine how it must look: eyes wide and sweet brown, her whole self waiting.

They pull up to a stoplight and Brittany full-on looks at Santana, not even in the mirror. She gives Santana's hand a little tug and smiles at her as she draws Santana's fingers up to her mouth and gently kisses her knuckles. Santana seems to get it.

A beat.

"Plus, I'm pretty sure Coach has Chunnel vision or something, because the routine you made up is totally fierce and we so would win the invitational next week if we did it."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Another beat, or maybe seven beats or so.

"Thank you, Britty."

Santana sounds relieved. Now she leans back against her headrest. She reaches over to the cup holder and rustles out Brittany's extra pair of sunglasses and puts them on, covering her eyes. Brittany knows that Santana is trying to look sleepy and bored and over everything that happened at practice, but really she's hiding a blush. When Santana sighs, it's in her high girlie voice.

Brittany smiles because, well, Santana. She kisses Santana's knuckles again. "Bing, bing, bing!" she says, like a bell. "You just gave the correct answer and that means you win a surprise date with your girlfriend to go get ice cream!"

"The correct answer? What was the question?"

"The question was 'Is Santana awesome?' and the answer is 'Yes' and you gave it just by being you, so the rules say that that means you get ice cream now, my treat. Trust me, San—I'm in academic decathlon."

Santana laughs for the first time since before practice and Brittany feels everything get just a little bit lighter. Santana reaches over with her free hand and flicks on the CD player.

For the next few blocks, they sing along at the top of their lungs to happy Taylor Swift songs in twangy Country Western accents—over the summer, they decided that it was okay to listen to Taylor Swift because, seriously, that bitch just gets it, but they also agreed that they would never, ever tell Rachel Berry about how much they liked Taylor Swift, even if Rachel tortured them to make them give their secret up, on pain of death or Broadway movie marathon—and Brittany dances in the driver's seat while Santana drums on the dash.

At stoplights, the people in the cars next to theirs shoot looks at them like they're crazy. They just sing louder and louder.

You are the best thing that's ever been mine

When they pull up the Dairy Queen, Santana turns the stereo off.

"So I'm thinking banana splits," she says, peeling off her sunglasses. "Fuck Coach, you know?"

Brittany nods. "Totally."

When she pulls up to order and rolls down the window, a burst of cold air comes into the car. The mumbling voice on the other end of the intercom tells her to order whenever she's ready. She flashes a grin at Santana and leans her head out the window.

"Um, okay, okay, yo," she says in her best fake ghetto voice, holding her right hand loosely in front of her mouth, shaking her left hand out the window, flashing pretend gang signs, but really just snapping her fingers. "A'ight. I'ma check dis mic."

About then, Santana cracks up. Her head snaps back and she leans against the window, covering her mouth with both hands. "Oh my god!" she chokes.

Brittany just smirks and continues, bobbing her head like she's listening to a rap song, even though she doesn't have headphones on. She wishes she had a baseball hat. She should have stolen Mike's from out of his locker or something. Then she could have worn it backwards or sideways, low over her eyes.

"Hook me up wit one banana split wit a lil' sumpin' a whipped cream for me, and another banana split wit hella whipped cream for my shawty." A pause. "Please."

Santana laughs her biggest laugh—the one that comes with her biggest smile and her deepest dimples, which, oh god, Brittany loves—and doubles over in her seat, slapping her knee first, then reaching over to slap Brittany's. Their eyes meet and they both laugh so loud that Brittany almost doesn't hear it when the guy on the intercom asks her if that will be all.

"'Fo sho," she says.

"That'll be $7.98 at the window. Please pull ahead when you're ready."

"Oh my fucking god, BrittBritt!" Santana gasps as Brittany takes her foot off the brake and the car scoots forward, flanking the building. Santana doesn't stop laughing until the cashier opens the window to take Brittany's debit card, and, even then, she only stops for a second, her smile stuttering as she tries to tame it, until she sees how confused the cashier looks when he realizes that Brittany and Santana are the only two people in the car; then she starts giggling again.

The cashier returns with Brittany's card and her receipt and hands them out to her, wary.

Brittany can't help herself.

She puts on her best straight face. "Dis me," she says, pointing at her own chest. "Dis my shawty," she says, gesturing to Santana. "We wifeys." For a second, there's silence, then Santana erupts into laughter again. Brittany extends her hand to Santana over the console and Santana takes it.

The cashier says that he'll be back with their order, but doesn't quite move yet. He just stares into the car, confused.

"Wifeys!" Santana laughs, not even trying to contain it anymore. She tugs on Brittany's hand and grins, wide and bright and careless. She looks at Brittany like Brittany is the best and funniest person in the whole world. For a second, Brittany really feels like she is.

The cashier disappears again, shaking his head.

"You're gonna cause a power outage if you keep using all the electricity in Lima to light that smile," Brittany teases.

(Cheesy flirting with Santana is always the right decision to make. Always, always, always.)

"Oh my god!" Santana shouts, delighted.

She clutches her free hand to her heart, like Brittany is just too much for her right now. Brittany is about one-thousand percent sure that Santana has the most beautiful smile in the whole world and the best laugh, too, because you can't see Santana smile without getting butterflies and without thinking about how sometimes the world can be a really awesome place and you can't hear Santana's laugh without laughing yourself, which just proves that, even though not too many people realize it, Santana is actually super good at making people happy, which is probably why Brittany feels happier than she's ever felt before right now.

Brittany smiles because all that rapper stuff was a pretty good thing to say, she guesses. She laughs because Santana's laughing and kisses her knuckles again. Santana ducks forward—quickly, before the cashier gets back—and kisses Brittany, still laughing. Her mouth feels warm and her voice makes Brittany's lips buzz. When she draws back, she's still swallowing giggles.

"Mhm," Brittany hums, dizzy with loving Santana so much and having Santana love her so much right back.

"Thank you for paying for mine," Santana says shyly.

"And thank you for being the cutest person in the world and for letting me pay," Brittany returns.

They sit there for another minute, just staring at each other, and neither one of them feels cold, even though the window is still open. Brittany watches Santana's eyes, which are dark and bright at the same time and are basically the reason why brown has always been Brittany's favorite color, ever since they were little.

"Hi," Santana says.

"Hi," Brittany says back.

The cashier opens the window and passes the banana splits out to Brittany carefully, one at a time. He seems glad that they've quieted down, but Brittany doesn't really pay attention to him. She just says thanks and passes Santana's split—the one with extra whipped cream—over to Santana and then rolls up the window. She drives into the parking lot and stops the car so they can both eat.

By the time they're halfway through their splits, both of them are shivering and full. They turn up the heat in the car, but that only makes the ice cream melt faster, so they end up with ice cream soup, which Brittany tosses out the window into the garbage can at the corner of the parking lot, before heading for home.

Along the way, they sing more Taylor Swift songs—which Santana claims totally ruins Brittany's street cred, even though Brittany's pretty sure that pimps can just do how they do, even if how they do involves belting Taylor Swift while they drive in the car with their girlfriends, knowwhadimsayin'?—and talk about glee club instead of Cheerios. When they pull up to Brittany's house, they sit in the driveway for a second and Santana leans over and kisses Brittany, deep on the lips, first chaste, then French, until Brittany can feel her heartbeat in her ears.

"Thank you," Santana says, when she pulls away, breathless. She smiles, "According to the rules, I think I owe you like a hundred surprise dates now because the question is 'Is Brittany perfect?' and the answer is 'Yes' and that kiss was just…"

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

They both laugh, not because anything's funny and not because they're nervous, but because they're together and everything just feels right. Brittany unclicks her safety belt and leans over across the console to press her forehead against Santana's. "Ready to go inside, shawty?" she says, bumping their noses together.

Santana rolls her eyes, but can't help but grin. "Goofus," Santana says, blushing. Then, "Yeah, sure am, boo."

(When she chooses Santana and Santana chooses her and then they go on choosing each other forever, every day, it's always, always the right answer, Brittany thinks.)


	4. Giving Flowers

Fact: Flowers are stupid, except for when they're not.

Fact: Brittany Pierce is the best dancer at the Lima Arts Center for Music and Dance and probably in, like, all of Western Ohio or something, too.

Fact: Santana Lopez is dating Brittany Pierce and loves her so, so much.

Fact: Brittany loves flowers and she's going to marry Santana someday.

* * *

><p>When Brittany emerges from the changing room, she finds Santana waiting for her, tucked between two pillars, her hands behind her back. Santana wears a weird expression on her face—almost like she feels guilty about something—and sits with her knees curled to her chest. She looks mouse-small and timid, eyebrows all the way up by her hairline, lips sucked into her mouth, as she fidgets on the spot.<p>

"Hey, BrittBritt," she says, her voice high and fluttery, like it is whenever she's about to ask Brittany a Big Question.

"Hi, Santana," Brittany singsongs sweetly. She can tell Santana feels nervous; Brittany doesn't know why Santana feels nervous, but Brittany wants Santana to know that everything is okay, so she smiles at Santana, goofy, and taps her toes against Santana's toes, clacking Santana's fancy, high-heeled, leather boots against her own canvas sneakers. Brittany feels super tall—like even taller than normal—with Santana on the ground below her, staring up at Brittany like she's a skyscraper. "What's up, babe?" Brittany says, holding out her hands, palms down, to Santana, offering to help Santana up.

Santana gives a quick shake of her head; she wants to do this herself. Brittany can tell from how wide Santana's eyes are—deep and quick, irises darting this way and that way like sparrows flitting between rooftops—that Santana isn't mad or even really afraid, just antsy or skittish, even. Brittany doesn't know why Santana feels skittish, but she knows there must be a reason.

When Santana starts to clamber to her feet, Brittany notices that Santana has something concealed between her back and the pillar. Suddenly, Santana's nervousness makes sense; she's hiding something, not like in a bad way, but in the kind of way that you would hide something from someone when it isn't quite time for them to see it yet.

There's a right time for everything, Brittany's mom likes to say.

Santana maneuvers herself carefully, always keeping whatever it is she has hidden between her back and the pillar, blocking it from Brittany's view. Since Santana's hiding whatever she has behind her back from Brittany, there must be a reason. Maybe it's a surprise; Brittany feels a thrill. Santana always acts super nervous whenever she has a surprise for Brittany. Brittany knows she shouldn't get her hopes up for whatever it is, but, then again, even if it isn't an awesome surprise or anything, she'll be okay because she has Santana and that's really all that matters, so.

Brittany waits for Santana to straighten herself out, then, once Santana gets to her feet, Brittany grins at her again. "What's up, babe?" Brittany singsongs for the second time, checking Santana's face for hints about whatever it is Santana has hidden behind her back.

Brittany pretends not to have noticed that Santana's hiding something; if it is a surprise, Brittany doesn't want Santana to think that she already guessed what it is. Santana likes for surprises to be surprises and tries to plan things out so that everything goes perfectly, even though she knows that sometimes things just happen and that you can't predict the future, even with time machines and stuff. Plus, Brittany doesn't know what the surprise is yet, so it's not like she spoiled anything. She hums and stares into Santana's eyes. Santana looks a little breathless.

"You were really, really amazing tonight," Santana blurts, her words all quick and close together, like cars racing in a pack down the brick road at the Indy 500.

(Brittany's dad really likes cars, okay?)

Brittany just hums again and keeps looking into Santana's eyes, trying to follow them as they glance from Brittany's mouth to something just over Brittany's shoulder, back to Brittany's mouth, then to her eyes, then to her mouth again. Santana keeps her hands behind her back.

After a minute, Brittany says, "Thanks."

"No, like…," Santana stalls.

She glances around helplessly. It has never been so hard for her to compliment Brittany before. She looks absolutely adorable, so flustered like this, like her words are so big and important that she can't quite wrap her mouth around them. Brittany just wants to lean forward and kiss Santana, so Santana had better think of what she wants to say soon.

Now Santana swallows and her words shift. They become less like race cars and more like a swing, flapping back and forth on the wind from the A-frame of a swing set.

"No, you're like always really amazing, Britt, but you've just like, I dunno… stepped into your own lately? God, that sounds lame! Like Schuester-lame. Ugh. I just mean that you're like so freaking awesome at what you do and stuff," her voice gets quiet, "and I'm really proud of you, baby."

For the first time since Brittany stepped out of the dressing room, Santana really looks at her, checking her reaction. Brittany smiles, a little to encourage Santana and a lot because she feels so wonderfully happy. Compliments are pretty cool, but compliments from Santana might just be the best thing ever because Santana is the best person ever. Brittany feels her ears and cheeks flush pink and something bright and big flood her chest. Now she really, really wants to kiss Santana, but Santana still hangs back, so Brittany decides to wait.

Instead of kissing Santana, Brittany rocks on her heels and ducks her head, shy. She makes the little "I love you" Sign Language sign with her right hand—her pointer finger and pinky up, thumb out, and middle fingers folded down—and tucks her left hand behind her at the small of her back, because sometimes she and Santana do that instead of saying "I love you" out loud. This time, she mouths the words _I love you_. Santana sees and she ducks her head, too. Sometimes Brittany swears Santana is the most bashful person in the world.

"Britty, I—," she stammers. "You just—" Santana mumbles something that might have the word deserve in it.

In desperation, Santana turns away from Brittany, towards the pillar, almost like Brittany is suddenly too bright and Santana can't look at her because she doesn't have sunglasses on or something. Santana whips the hidden maybe-surprise thing out from behind her back and extends it at Brittany at arm's length, her eyelids scrunched shut. She bites her bottom lip. Santana almost acts like the maybe-surprise is a snake or something that will bite her, or like she feels afraid that Brittany will swat whatever it is she offers to the ground.

Brittany so won't, though.

It's flowers.

The surprise is flowers.

And not just any flowers, but like a ton of roses, each one glossy, lipstick red on the inside and dusty, licorice red on the outside, all in graceful mid-bloom. Brittany guesses there must be a dozen of them, because that's what you always hear about: a dozen roses. Plus, there seems to be a lot. Someone wrapped the stems up in purple tissue paper and tied them with a green, silky ribbon in a bow—probably the person at the florist shop.

Her heart flutters and Brittany quickly claps her hands over it, to keep it from flying away.

(Santana is pretty much the Queen of Brittany's Butterflies.)

Brittany feels her cheeks and ears turn even pinker. Before she can help herself, she blurts, "San, you got me a dozen roses? Nobody's ever done that for me before!"

Santana finally looks at her, a smile already wide and beautiful on her face. But instead of saying what Brittany thinks she'll say, Santana says, "Really? Not even Artie?" and Brittany suddenly knows why Santana felt nervous before.

"Well," Brittany says.

She reaches forward to take the flowers and Santana seems super relieved. Brittany draws the flowers up to her nose and smells them; they smell rich and earthy and thick, but also sweet, more like girl than boy. None of the stems have thorns on them, just little bumps where the thorns used to be. Brittany admires the roses up close, looking over all the little crinkles and veins in the petals, but not for too long, because she doesn't want to keep Santana waiting for her answer forever.

Brittany speaks carefully, "My dad got me some little yellow trumpet-looking flowers when I passed my driver's test. And sometimes Artie got me like one flower at a time, like a daisy or something. And once he got me one rose, for like our one month anniversary or whatever. But nobody's ever gotten me a dozen roses before, like… ever."

She smiles at Santana over the top of the flowers, smelling them again. Santana smiles back, and shrugs. "Well, not everybody has Daddy Deep-Pockets and his magic credit card," Santana says, voice scratchy and low. She tries to play what she says off like it's no big deal.

It is a big deal, though.

Brittany grins. Santana tries to be such a grizzly, but she isn't. Actually, Santana is like the biggest softie on the face of the planet and what she just said proves it. The thing is that, even last year, Santana never really hated Artie; he just scared her, that's all, and when Santana gets scared, she puts out her claws, like a cat, so she took swipes at him. But now Santana knows that she doesn't have any reason to feel afraid of Artie anymore, so she can be nice about him—Santana nice, which is basically just sneaky nice.

Since they have the two pillars hiding them, Brittany darts her head forward and kisses Santana, hard and happy, on the corner of the mouth. "Thank you for the flowers," she says firmly, so that Santana will get that Brittany is like serious-business in love with her surprise and so that Santana will know that she did everything right. "They're lovely. And you're lovely. And I love you, lovergirl. _Love_."

Santana smiles her huge Brittany-smile, deep with dimples. "I love you, too," she says, eyes gleaming. See? Softie. Brittany decides not to tease Santana about crying over this because it's kind of really a big deal. Instead, she just extends one hand—the one that isn't holding the flowers—to Santana and Santana takes it. Brittany swings their hands between them and leads them out from between the pillars.

"I left my bag in my locker," Brittany says, sniffing at the flowers again. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to this, but she really doesn't mind. Brittany loves surprises.

"'Kay," says Santana in her mouse-voice, which really means _Let's go get it, baby_.

As Brittany and Santana enter the changing room, some of the other dancers are still in there, somewhere in the middle of undressing, in sports bras above the waist and dance costume below, applying new coats of makeup and texting from their smartphones.

"Oh my god!" says one of Brittany's friends, rising from her bench. She nods at Brittany's flowers, bug-eyed. "Did your girlfriend get those for you? They're gorgeous!"

"Totally," Brittany says, feeling an all new kind of happy. Somehow, she thinks it's really good for Santana to hear things like what her friend just said. Brittany shoots Santana a glance and sees Santana just grinning, prettier than anything. Brittany hums, pleased.

Brittany hands her flowers over to Santana while she puts in her locker combo and rustles out her bag. Some of the girls come over to look at the flowers; Santana holds the bouquet out for the girls to smell and they all fawn a little. Santana tries to look annoyed, but mostly she just seems really super pleased with herself. Brittany shuts her locker and Santana turns away from the girls; she trades Brittany the flowers for Brittany's bag, which, if anybody didn't know how awesome Santana is already, would just be proof that she is pretty much the awesomest. They lace their fingers together again.

"Bye, guys," Brittany says to her friends as she and Santana head out towards the parking lot. Once they pass the door and nobody can overhear them, Brittany whispers to Santana, "They're all totally jealous because I have the sweetest girlfriend in the world."

Santana just gives a little huffy laugh, her breath visible against the cold night. She squooshes closer to Brittany as they head towards Santana's car. Santana fumbles with her keys, then opens the passenger side door for Brittany, handing the keychain over to her. She tosses Brittany's bag in the backseat and then comes around to her own side while Brittany starts the car. When Santana slides into the driver's seat, she finds Brittany examining the flowers in the low light. Now the flowers look wine-dark and like a mystery; Brittany knows enough not to pester the petals too much. Instead, she just smells them again and again.

The car warms and Santana shivers. "BrittBritt?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"So could I do this again? Like, get you flowers and stuff?"

Brittany smiles. She looks at Santana with her serious I-mean-what-I'm-gonna-say-next face. "You may, but only if I'm allowed to get you flowers, too."

"Like for Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah, but like for any day, too. Like for 'Santana is Awesome Day,' which is every day or any day—even if it's a bank holiday."

"Oh my god, Britt," Santana says, which really means _I love you so much_.

Brittany wiggles deeper into her coat and feels so, so loved.

After a beat, Santana speaks. "I always wanted to buy you flowers, but I couldn't, so I told everybody flowers were, like, stupid or whatever. But I really wanted to get some for you," she whispers. "Like for every dance recital. And your birthdays. And just because."

"I remember," Brittany says, suddenly a little sad, not for right now, but for before, for how lonely Santana must have been.

She remembers once when Finn bought Quinn flowers when Quinn was pregnant with her baby and gave them to her during glee club. Santana told Quinn that Finn was a moron because, one, flowers were expensive but not valuable, two, flowers were already dying by the time you even got them, and, three, flowers were so much less permanent than bling. Plus, she said that Finn should have saved his money so that he could pay for all the custom-made, giant-sized baby diapers he would have to buy his ginormous bastard child after Quinn popped it out instead of wasting it on the world's saddest, smallest bunch of unsmokable weeds.

Santana had sounded super scared when she'd said that—everyone else called it mean, but Brittany knew better—and Brittany had thought, even back then, that maybe it was because Santana worried that no one would ever get her flowers like Finn got flowers for Quinn.

(Brittany would have bought Santana flowers back then, if Santana would have let her. Instead, she had just folded up a little origami tulip for Santana during Geometry and passed it to her across the desk. Santana had looked at the tulip kind of funny, but then she had kept it hanging in her locker for the rest of the tri, right next to her Cheerios schedule, underneath the lock.)

Santana pauses, and Brittany can tell that Santana is about to tell a secret. She holds her breath a little, because nothing is more special to her than moments like these. Santana says, "When I was a kid, my dad used to bring flowers home to my mom from the gift shop in the hospital. She would put then in a vase over the sink and I'd watch her smell them during the day and she smiled every time."

(Brittany loves the way Santana says _vaahse_, not _vace_. She sounds like such a movie star.)

Brittany reaches across the console and takes Santana's hand, which still feels cold from walking outside. In math class, Brittany's teacher taught that infinity plus any finite, real number still equals infinity—which Brittany understands, because infinity is an idea, not a number, really—and Brittany guesses that Santana is kind of like infinity, a little bit, because Santana is already perfect to Brittany, but keeps getting more and more perfect to Brittany every day, which shouldn't even be possible, you know, but.

Santana is just a surprise by herself.

"We could do that, if you want," Brittany says quietly. "Put flowers on the windowsill?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd really love it, San."

"Me, too, Britt. Home?"

"Home."

* * *

><p>Fact: You don't need a reason for flowers, because sometimes there are more reasons for flowers than you can even count.<p>

Fact: Santana Lopez is the best girlfriend in the whole world. She should win an award for it or something.

Fact: Brittany Pierce is dating Santana Lopez and she loves her so, so much.

Fact: Santana and Brittany both love flowers. They're gonna get married to each other someday.


	5. Wedding Rings

So Santana wasn't going to come inside, but then walking Brittany to the door turned into kissing Brittany on the stoop turned into seven slow "I love you" mumbles against each other's lips turned into a whiney "Please don't leave" turned into "But BrittBritt…" turned into one sad puppy pout turned into two sad puppy pouts turned into "Well, I guess I can do my calculus during homeroom tomorrow…" and a fist pump and a whoop, and finally into Brittany leading Santana into the mud room by the wrist, happily explaining the dream she had last night about a new free candy store at the mall and Kurt wearing a rubber raincoat and stiletto pumps to school while Santana just beams at Brittany like she's the Best Thing Ever.

(It was a pretty awesome dream; Kurt has fabulous calves and free peanut butter cups could probably solve all the world's problems, if there were just more of them available for everyone. Also, Santana has the prettiest smile in the world.)

They make a lot of noise hanging up their coats and tossing off their tennis shoes, kicking them up against the wall of the closet, which is probably why Brittany's dad yells for her as soon as they make it to the family room—not because he's mad, but because he hears all the banging sounds and wants to make sure that it's Brittany coming in the house and not like a robber or something.

"Brittany Sue? You home?" he calls, probably from the living room.

"Yeah, Dad!" she says, reaching over to grab Santana's hand. "Santana's with me!"

(Brittany makes sure to warn her dad that Santana's here because some nights he showers right after dinner and then walks around in his bathrobe and boxer shorts and there have been three times now when that turned out really super embarrassing for everybody.)

"Come on in to the living room, girls!" he says.

(Brittany mutters "Good," because if her dad wants them to come to him, that means he's probably wearing pants, which means she doesn't have to worry about that problem anymore.)

Brittany swings hers and Santana's hands between them and leads Santana to the living room. They find Brittany's whole family and Rory sitting in there on the couch with the lights off. Someone pushed the couch all the way back against the window wall, leaving off-color tracks on the carpet where the legs moved, and set up a card table in the middle of the room.

At first Brittany thinks there's a weird camera sitting on the card table, but then she notices the small carousel attached to the machine and she realizes that it's a slide projector, like the one Mrs. Hagberg sometimes uses in Geography class. Brittany didn't even know that her family owned one of these things. A light from the projector shines onto the far wall; the painting that usually hangs on that wall sits on the floor, propped against the lounge chair, so the wall is wide open, like a movie screen.

"Your uncle sent us some old family slides," Brittany's dad explains, "so I brought this old projector home from work and I thought we could look at some tonight. They're from when your mom was a little girl, like of her family's vacations and parties."

The only slides Brittany has ever seen before have been Mrs. Hagberg's school slides, which usually have to do with like the Lake Erie Basin and the population of Cleveland; the slides from when Brittany's mom was a kid sound like they'll be a lot more interesting than any slides about geography ever could be. Brittany is about to go sit down on the floor in front of her mom and sister when she thinks that maybe she should ask Santana if she wants to do this first. She does it with just a look.

_You want to watch?_

Santana looks around at the whole setup and Brittany's family, nervous. Brittany sees Santana's face change into the expression Santana wears when she wants something but thinks she can't have it—long and drawn, her eyes deep and mouth just a little bit hopeful, pursed and shy—and knows that Santana does want to watch a lot, but probably can't find the words to say so. Sure enough, Santana glances down at the carpet. "I could go…?" she says, like she thinks that's what Brittany's family wants her to say, instead of that she wants to see the slides.

Brittany feels really glad when her mom answers. "We'd like you to stay, if you want to, Santana."

Santana checks with Brittany for quick confirmation—Brittany nods—and bites her lip. She is so bashful sometimes, even with people she knows really well. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude on family time," she says politely.

"You won't be intruding," says Brittany's dad.

"You should just stay," Brittany's sister whines, leaning over the arm of the couch so that her hair hangs down and brushes the carpet and her face starts to turn pink. "Santana," she pouts, drawing out the name, walking her fingertips just above the carpet in the air as she stares at Santana, upside-down, waiting for Santana's answer. She looks like a really big spider monkey.

Rory just looks nervous.

Brittany's mom adjusts her legs, shifting them daintily to the side, to give Brittany and Santana room to sit down and lean back against the couch in front of her. Brittany's sister tosses a couch pillow down for them to use.

That kind of settles it.

Santana mumbles, "Thank you," and Brittany cheers—except silently and inside her head—because she really likes having Santana around and she knows how much Santana secretly likes stuff like this and she thinks it's cool that Santana gets along with her family so well because Brittany loves her family and Brittany loves Santana and Brittany loves it when the people she loves kind of love each other, too.

Brittany adjusts the couch pillow so that it leans at an angle against the couch. She sits down first and sinks back against it, legs curled under her, leaving half the pillow open, then pats the ground next to her for Santana to sit down, too. Santana does sit down, arranging the pleats of her Cheerios skirt over her legs. Brittany smiles at her and Santana smiles back, but they don't touch each other.

(Santana will hold hands with Brittany in front of Brittany's parents now, but she still won't cuddle Brittany in front of them. Brittany doesn't mind and doesn't push it because she doesn't want Santana to feel weird and she knows that Santana will do it when she's ready anyhow. It's not that Brittany embarrasses Santana or that Santana feels ashamed about being with her; it's just that Santana is really careful of precious things.)

(That probably means that Santana will be really good at holding babies and making sure to support their necks right someday.)

(Brittany tries not to get ahead of herself, but sometimes she can't help it. And sometimes she doesn't think it's that much ahead, anyway, really. Sometimes you just know stuff for sure and it's lame to pretend like you don't.)

"Comfy?" asks Brittany's dad.

Santana nods yes, but Brittany knows that Santana isn't comfortable at all because she's trying so hard to stay on her side of the pillow and use her good manners that she barely has any room and she can't help but sit all stiffly because of it.

Brittany doesn't like it that Santana's uncomfortable, of course, but she does think it's adorable how hard Santana tries to impress her parents and she does like how Santana is so courteous to others, because basically Santana is the most thoughtful, polite person in the world, when you really get to know her.

Rory doesn't know that yet—Santana still scares him a lot—so he wiggles as far away from her as he can, but Brittany's little sister happily reaches for Santana's ponytail and starts running her fingers through it while Brittany's dad fiddles with the projector and Brittany hums, pleased.

"Okay, here we go," Brittany's dad says, setting the last slide into place. He squints at the slide box on the table next to him; the box looks super old. "These are from… 1972 to 1977," he reads, before he starts the show.

The first slide is upside down, so Brittany's dad has to change it, but it shows Brittany's uncle when he was probably about seven, Mom says, dressed up like a little cowboy, riding on a pony at a birthday party. The pony has this awesome case of side bangs going on and the colors in the slide all look kind of muted, even though they're bold hues. The slide projector makes a steady, wheezy whirring sound.

Brittany likes the picture and likes hearing her mom stammer to remember the context for it. She looks to Santana to check if Santana likes it, too, and sees Santana smiling, her mouth a little lopsided, the light from the projector reflecting back on her face, making the whites of her eyes look super white against the darkness. Her black hair shines with the yellow on Brittany's uncle's shirt and the powder blue of the old timey sky.

The whole family laughs when they get to a section of slides which feature Brittany's Meemaw's best fashion statements from the 1970s. Brittany's favorite outfit is this really awesome polyester jumpsuit that's neon blue with highlighter yellow racing stripes up the sides and bellbottom leg cuffs and this giant, white plastic belt. It looks like the Brady Bunch meets Sue Sylvester. It's totally fierce.

Brittany leans over to Santana. "I'm gonna bring that back," she teases.

Santana smirks. "Um, no, you're not," she whispers. "Not even you could make that look hot, Britt." A pause. "Maybe." Another pause. "Okay, whatever. You could. Just please don't wear that. God."

Brittany laughs at that and her little sister takes a swipe at her and tells her to shush up.

"Girls," Brittany's mom says and they all go quiet again. Santana fidgets a little where she sits, probably because her legs are falling asleep or something.

They watch the 1974 family road trip to Disneyland, the time that Brittany's mom and aunts and uncle all had swollen chipmunk cheeks on Christmas because they got the mumps from their neighbor kid, and the Fourth of July 1975 at the family cabin play out in aquamarine, avocado green, mustard yellow, paisley, and hippie orange on the white wall. Brittany's mom and dad reminisce about old toys and old music and the banana seats on their old bicycles.

"When I get my time machine to work, we're so gonna go back and see like a billion Fleetwood Mac concerts… and maybe the Bee Gees," Brittany whispers, nudging Santana. She doesn't mean for anyone else to overhear, but apparently Rory does.

"That sounds lovely, Brittany. Do you think I could come along?" he says cheerfully.

Brittany doesn't think Rory is flirting with her—not with Santana around—but he sounds kind of condescending, like he's trying to be sweet but secretly thinks her idea is nonsense, and she doesn't want to encourage anything from him and she doesn't like him butting in, so she just shrugs.

"You so have Uncle Randy's chin, Rory," Brittany says, gesturing up at the slide on the wall, which shows her eleven year-old uncle getting a Boy Scout award at a Court of Honor in somebody's ranchero-style basement. "I can totally see the family resemblance."

Rory pulls a face, but Brittany ignores him. She looks at Santana, who wears a funny expression, somewhere between a smile and something darker and deeper. She seems proud of Brittany, but it isn't just that.

For a long time after that, they just watch slide after slide of the summer of 1976, when Brittany's mom's family visited Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone, and a lot of the pictures are of mountains and earthen pots of bubbling mud and one shows two blurry, black blobs that Brittany's mom swears are bears running up an embankment from really, really far away.

Brittany starts to get a little sleepy right then and she sits on her hands, because they feel cold. She rests her head against the pillow and only just barely manages to laugh when her dad makes a joke about how it takes a real man to wear boater shoes while walking on the bridge next to Old Faithful, doesn't it, Grandpa?

(These slides about the National Parks aren't too different from the geography slides—which, yawn.)

Just as Brittany is pretty sure she's about to just conk out, she feels Santana touch her wrist. At first, she thinks it's an accident and that maybe Santana didn't mean to brush up against her at all, but then Santana pulls Brittany's hand out from underneath Brittany's leg and holds it, weaving their fingers together. Brittany doesn't look over because she doesn't want to make Santana feel self-conscious or anything. She doubts that anyone else even notices anyway. Plus, they've held hands in front of her family before. It's so nice, though.

So she sighs.

Santana is perfect.

Brittany doesn't really expect anything else to happen after that, but then they get into slides that show Brittany's great-uncle's wedding, with all the guys in these powder blue tuxedoes with the kind of ruffle shirts that Puck would call "shagnasty" and all the girls in these dresses with huge puffy sleeves and taffeta fringe, and all of a sudden Brittany feels pressure on her shoulder and then Santana's hair rubbing against her neck, and it's just at the part of the slideshow where Brittany's great-uncle may now kiss his bride.

Santana sighs and snuggles closer to Brittany on the floor, her knees bumping up against Brittany's legs.

"Hey," she mumbles.

"Hey," says Brittany, and Brittany can't help it: she smiles like the world's biggest idiot.

And even if Brittany's mom and Rory and her sister can't see her face because they're behind her on the couch, and even if her dad isn't looking at her because he's too busy kneeling beside the slide projector, flipping to the next slot, Brittany's pretty sure that probably everybody in the room can feel how happy she is because it's just such a warm, big, bright feeling that it can't possibly just stay with her. Brittany tucks Santana more snugly against her chest, holding her, so that she can feel the best of it—the warmest, brightest part.

(It's all for Santana anyway. It always is.)

(It's not that Brittany needs Santana to make big gestures or show off to people about them or anything; it's just that she loves Santana so much and she feels so happy whenever they're close and she likes it when Santana can relax and feel peace because everything was so hard for Santana for so long and Santana deserves to feel free. Santana deserves everything good.)

Brittany leans down and rests her head against Santana's.

Santana probably notices Brittany's big goofy smile, but she doesn't say anything about it. Instead, she just mumbles, "Forcing your bridesmaids to all wear matching dresses should be illegal unless Kurt Hummel plans your wedding, and, even then, it's questionable. I think it's probably against the Geneva Conventions."

"Totally," Brittany agrees. "No matching dresses. A color scheme could be okay, though. Like if everyone wore black and red or something."

"Yeah," Santana agrees, except somehow it seems like they're not just talking about weddings in general anymore.

(Brittany tries not to get ahead of herself, but sometimes she can't help it. And sometimes she doesn't think it's that much ahead, anyway, really. Sometimes you just know stuff for sure and it's lame to pretend like you don't.)

When they get to the end of the reel, Brittany's dad asks if everybody wants to keep going or what, but Brittany's mom says it's a school night and rustles Brittany's sister off the couch, telling her to go get her math homework so she can check it, and Rory disappears to go call his parents. Brittany's dad shrugs and says, "Well, that was fun, huh, girls?"

And Santana just nods and Brittany says, "Fo sho."

After Brittany's dad leaves the room—he asks "Lights on or off, girls?" and they both say off—Brittany and Santana both just sigh and relax more deeply into one another, their bodies soft and calm, wrapped up in each other in the dark.

"Are you gonna sleep over?" Brittany asks.

"My mom would kill me," Santana mumbles. She still sounds like she might stay, though. She nuzzles Brittany's neck and presses a quick kiss to Brittany's collarbone over Brittany's uniform. "That was nice, Britt," she says. "I really like your family." Brittany hums, but doesn't say anything. A pause. "I don't like Rory, though."

"That's okay," Brittany shrugs. "He's not my family."

What Brittany doesn't say—what both of them already know—glows, happy, between them, and they both just grin.

"I think you scare him," Brittany says, after a while.

"Yeah? Well, he'd better be scared," Santana says, trying to sound mean; her voice is too small, though. She yawns and curls into a ball, her face pressed up against Brittany's chest. Santana is absolutely adorable and probably the least scary thing on the face of the planet right now. Brittany melts. "Rawr," Santana mumbles, in her sweetest little mouse voice, falling asleep.

Brittany laughs and kisses Santana's hair.

(Sometimes you just know stuff and you know it and you know it and you know—)


End file.
